Where His Demons Hide
by SpobyFicStalker
Summary: "He's so well-adjusted and mellow, and his smiles are so genuine, that it just slips her mind." Flashes in the shared life of Spencer Hastings and Toby Cavanaugh.
1. When you feel my heat

A/N: Hey, everyone! So this story is the result of me re-watching season one during this lengthy hiatus. If anything, it's only made me love Toby Cavanaugh even more. He went though all these horrible, horrible things, and yet he remains so untainted and genuine and _not_ bitter and yeah. Let's just say I fell in love with him all over again… and thus, this fic was born. :)

It will be three chapters, and – since apparently I'm such a control freak that I'm incapable of posting a first chapter until I've got the whole damn thing already written – I'll be able to update regularly (if you want a testament to what a control freak I am: this story was completed over a week ago, but I kept editing and editing until it was driving me crazy, so this is me telling myself to get a grip and just post before I lose my mind). This first chapter could be a oneshot, it might even feel like a oneshot – but I promise it's not. The second and third chapters are different, but also kind of the same. Yeah I know I'm probably not making any sense but hopefully you'll have caught on by the end of the second chapter.

One more thing before I stop yacking your ears off. I'm sure you all recognize the title: Demons by Imagine Dragons (I just tweaked it a little to fit Toby better: 'my' became 'his' because it's Spencer who's telling the story). Each chapter is also named after one particular line from the same song. Okay. That is all. Bye.

* * *

**Where His Demons Hide**

Chapter One: When you feel my heat

"Oxytocin?" Toby queries, staring down at the Scrabble board in disbelief. "I've never even heard of that."

"It's a real word," Spencer retorts defensively. "Look it up if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," he replies, trying and failing miserably to hold back a smile.

She looks satisfied, only to look at him questioningly when his eyes remain trained on her.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" he teases gently. "Show off all that knowledge?"

She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't elude her how he is one of the few people who can get away with a comment like that without triggering offense on her part. She's pretty sure it's the affection she always hears in his voice, almost like he takes pride in the fact that his girlfriend can easily outsmart him when it comes to subjects like biology, chemistry and physics. There are other areas where he gives her a run for her money, but when it came to science she has him beat and they both know it.

"Let me show you instead," she replies mischievously, enjoying the surprise in his eyes as she crosses the bed and crawls over to him.

She nestles herself in his lap, leaning her body against his and draping both arms across him in what can only be construed as a lover's embrace. He doesn't ask questions, just wraps his arms around her in return – like a reflex, she thinks. Like the way your leg automatically jerks upwards when the doctor hits the right spot on your knee with a tiny hammer. That's the way his body reacts to hers.

She feels him breathe deeply, his nose buried in her neck, and she melts even further into him. They stay like this for a while, like they usually do. Neither of them is very good at letting go when they're this close to each other. In fact, they both downright suck at it.

"Do you feel it?" Spencer whispers, brushing her fingers through his baby soft hair. "The oxytocin?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmurs back, sounding lazy and relaxed, "but this feels amazing."

She laughs, pulling back just a little so she can look at his face. With a deep breath, she prepares to share the information she obtained from a biology book not too long ago. "When a hug lasts twenty seconds, there is a therapeutic effect on the body and mind. The reason is that a sincere hug produces a hormone called oxytocin, also known as the love hormone. This substance has many benefits to our physical and mental health, and helps us, among other things, to relax, to feel safe, and calm our fears and anxiety," she rambles.

For a moment he looks dumbstruck, but then he chuckles. "Come here, you," he says, pulling her all the way against him again. She feels him press kisses against her neck and shoulder. "You have got to be the prettiest science nerd ever to be born."

Smiling into his skin, she continues. "The average length of a hug between two people is three seconds. But it's only when the hug lasts twenty seconds or longer that the oxytocin gets released." She pauses for a moment, and when she goes on her voice was softer, and more wistful. "You're the only one who ever hugs me for that long."

His arms tighten around her protectively. "Yeah, well. You're the only one who ever hugs me, period."

She freezes in his embrace, and when she speaks her voice sounds tight. "That doesn't make me feel better at all."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly, unmistakable guilt coloring his tone as his hands rub soothing circles in her back. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean… it wasn't supposed to come out like that."

But it's too late. He's said it, and the fact that she knows it's true is enough to cause a lump to manifest itself in her throat. She knows he's an introvert, which by definition means he doesn't always know how to ask for the physical and emotional affection he needs. On top of that, his family still looks at him like there's something wrong with him, and while he's no longer really viewed as the black cat of Rosewood, he still doesn't have very many friends.

Telling herself to get it together, she presses her lips against his in a firm, no-holds-barred kiss. A hug no longer seems like enough to show him what she feels for him and what he means to her, so she struggles for an even more meaningful way to show him. Their tongues engage in a fierce duel, and before she knows what she's doing she has removed his shirt and is pulling him down on top of her.

His muscles feel hard but his skin is so wonderfully soft, she thinks as she trails one hand down his back. They've only been doing this for a few weeks, but already he feels so familiar, so comforting. He carefully helps her out of her dress, making sure the buttons don't end up tangled in her hair, and she watches his turquoise eyes darken as they view her lying beneath him in just her bra and underwear.

He leans down to kiss her, and any self-consciousness she might have felt instantly evaporates into thin air. Her hands move to the button of his jeans on their own accord, and she smiles against his mouth.

"You're overdressed," she murmurs, causing a chuckle to escape his lips.

He pulls away slightly to accommodate her as she pushes his jeans down his hips, and they both jump when something clatters against the floor.

"Wha…?"

He doesn't finish as they see the Scrabble board knocked on carpet, tiles scattered all over the place.

"Crap," Toby mutters. "Sorry."

"'s Okay," Spencer says quickly, dragging his mouth back down to hers, desperate to finish what they started.

"But you were winning," he reminds her, smiling.

"Yeah and in an hour I'm sure I'll be furious," she answers, sprinkling kisses along his neck. "But for right now… this is more important."

_You're more important_, she wants to say, but he cuts her off with a fiery kiss, and within seconds her mind goes numb.

* * *

"Hey, Toby?" Aria calls from her spot on an air mattress in the pool. "How's my eggplant coming along?"

Toby gives her the thumbs up, and Aria grins.

"Look at him," Emily says to Spencer, clear affection in her voice as she watches Toby by the barbeque, grilling sausages and hamburgers and one exceptionally large eggplant for the vegetarian of the group. "He's such a good sport."

Spencer follows her friend's eyes and smiles to herself. "Tell me about it."

The two of them are setting the picnic table outside the barn while in the other girls have fun in the pool. They really couldn't have asked for better weather to do this. It's something they planned months and months ago, after one of their many A-related disasters. They all agreed that after graduation, they would have a barbeque/pool party at Spencer's, just the four of them with their significant others… only it didn't quite turn out that way. Emily and Paige seem to be over for good, Hanna and Caleb – while talking again, at least – continue to attempt to work through layers of secrets and distrust, and Aria still can't hear Ezra Fitz's name without tearing up.

And so Toby is the only one of the partners to show up. Not wanting to put any pressure on him, Spencer assured him beforehand that she and her friends are perfectly capable of figuring out how a barbeque works. She doesn't want him to feel awkward amongst all these girls, especially since Alison has maneuvered her way into their group again. Spencer knows he still feels uncomfortable around the blond diva, and she's pretty sure she'd eat dirt before she'd force him to hang out with her.

But Toby just shrugged his shoulders when she told him he didn't have to come, given her his sexy half-smile and said, "It's okay. It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

Spencer thinks back to that moment now, feeling a familiar stab at her heart. Impulsively, she turns to Emily.

"Do you ever hug him?"

"What?" Emily asks.

"Toby," Spencer clarifies. "Do you hug him sometimes? Just… as friends," she adds, noticing how Emily is giving her a funny look.

"Um," Emily says, sounding like she can't really tell where this conversation is going. "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes. Why?"

Spencer shrugs, unable to find the words to explain. A moment of silence hangs between them, and then she quickly says, "I'm sorry, I know it seems like a weird question. It's just…"

Her eyes wander over to her boyfriend, still slaving away at the barbeque. "He went three years of his life without a single hug from anyone," she hears herself saying, though her own voice sounds far away. "From the time his mother died till after he got back from reform school… no one hugged him. Ever."

She watches Emily's eyes cloud over with sympathy, and has to look away to avoid her own emotions from getting the best of her.

"He told you that?" Emily wants to know, and Spencer nods, not trusting her voice.

Emily clears her throat before letting out a small, rueful laugh. "You guys are always saying the most heartbreaking things about each other."

Spencer stops in the middle of setting a plate down, looking at her friend in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Emily hesitates. "He told me once that when you cry, he feels like a failure."

With a deep sigh, Spencer lowers the plate down to the table, avoiding Emily's eyes. Wondering why she still lets comments like these surprise her. "Well, he shouldn't. He's the reason I don't cry more."

They work in silence for a little while, barely registering the happy sounds of their three friends splashing around in the pool. Spencer goes inside to retrieve a few soda bottles from the fridge, and she's delicately placing them on the table when she asks, "You love him… right?"

Emily looks momentarily taken aback. "Of course I do," she speaks earnestly. "As much as a gay woman can love a guy."

The corners of Spencer's mouth turn upwards a little at the comment before she turns serious again. "Then you should hug him more. I feel like he needs it… that physical contact… from more people than just me."

"He deserves it from more people than just you," Emily agrees quietly.

Spencer looks at her, registering the subtle difference, but doesn't comment on it.

"I will," Emily promises after a few more seconds of silence, and Spencer feels her face relax into a smile.

* * *

Out of their three children, Cleo is the one most like her. Everyone says so. She not only has the chocolate-colored eyes, but also the dark hair and the sharp tongue that can be hilarious one moment and mortifying the next. She's fiercely competitive, talented at pretty much everything she sets her mind to, and has the best organizational skills of any seven-year-old Spencer has ever encountered.

A true Hastings if there ever was one.

Currently, the little girl is engrossed in a school project: a mobile she's supposed to make with a hanger, displaying the characters of a book she read – or in Cleo's case, devoured in one day straight. Spencer notices the determined look on her daughter's face as she draws, cuts, glues. She's completely oblivious to the world around her, and doesn't take notice when her father announces he's leaving for an overnight weekend job.

Cleo's brother and sister immediately jump up and run over to him, and he bends down to catch them, planting noisy kisses on both their cheeks. Their giggles echo in the hallway. They know he won't be back for three days. Cleo knows this too, but she's still stuck in her world of books and imagination.

"Hey…" Spencer nudges her gently. "Daddy's leaving. Want to go say bye?"

"Uh huh," she answers absentmindedly, her dark eyes never wavering from the drawing she is trying to cut out. She doesn't move, and Spencer rolls her eyes.

"Cleo Cavanaugh," she says exasperatedly. "Go hug your father, please."

The child sighs dramatically and drops her scissors to the table. She slides down from her stool and takes off in the direction of her father, whom she adores. Toby's eyes soften as she approaches him enthusiastically, and by the time she's reached him the project seems momentarily forgotten.

"I love you, Daddy," she singsongs, squeezing her tiny arms around his neck. Spencer watches her husband close his eyes in pleasure at hearing their daughter's innocent, heartfelt words. Her own chest swells. There is nothing quite like watching Toby melt under their children's undying devotion to him.

"I love you too, pumpkin. Be good for your mom, okay?"

"Okay," Cleo agrees automatically, and Toby sets her back down on her feet.

"Wait," she says, grabbing his hand, her big eyes suddenly anxious. "You won't get to see my project before I turn it in."

"Take a picture when you're done," he tells her soothingly. "Send it to me."

And instantly, everything in Cleo's world is all right again. She beams and happily makes her way back to the table, prepared to dive back into her own creativity. And it never ceases to amaze Spencer how Toby's calming qualities comfort not only her, but their children as well.

She smiles at him from across the room, noting how the kids are all occupied. "I'll walk you out," she offers.

She follows him outside to his truck, which is parked in the driveway next to her SUV. He loads his things into the back; then makes his way over to her. He's thirty-three, but she suspects his eyes will remain blue and boyish until he's at least a hundred.

Wordlessly, she falls into his arms. He brings her close, running a soothing hand up and down her back, and breathing her in like he's done a million times before. She closes her eyes and relishes. Just relishes.

"Feel the oxytocin?" he suddenly whispers against her, and she laughs.

"Most definitely."

He kisses her – a long, tender kiss that other people's children tend to find shocking and gross, but their own kids don't bat an eyelash over. ("They're _allowed_," Cleo would tell her friends authoritatively.)

"I miss you already," Toby mumbles into her hair.

"Me too," she replies, her voice possibly softer than his. After a moment she adds, "I always miss you."

It's true. She does. Even if he's gone for only an hour, it leaves her out of balance. It leaves her cold.

She frames his face between her hands. "Be safe."

"You too." He kisses her lips again, and then her forehead. "I'll call you when I get there."

She nods and releases him, feeling that familiar feeling of dread well up inside her gut. He smiles at her before closing the door to his truck, and she feels herself smiling back despite the dull ache in her heart. She watches the truck drive down the street, and remains rooted in her spot for moments after it turned the corner.

Then she feels something very substantial pulling her back towards the house, and she smiles to herself.

Watching him leave will always be difficult; she doesn't doubt that. But she also knows that she has three very good reasons to be happy even when he's gone. Three pint-sized human beings – all different, all unique, and who all carry bits and pieces of him inside them. Even Cleo.


	2. So they dug your grave

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter one. Y'all are the best. Seriously.

* * *

Chapter Two: So they dug your grave

"Aria…" Spencer catches up with her, grabbing her arm. "Have you seen Toby?"

"Uh yeah," Aria says distractedly, her fingers weaving through the many items packed into her small clutch. "Em said she saw him disappear into the hallway before."

"Okay," Spencer says, trying to hide her confusion. "Thanks."

It's turning out to be quite a prom. Between Hanna/Caleb misunderstandings and Emily/Paige drama, Spencer has barely had time to sneeze, let a lone pay attention to the boyfriend who surprised her by even wanting to come to this thing in the first place.

She feels a pang of guilt. She knows he's only doing it for her. She knows he'd much rather stay home and snuggle under a blanket together and watch a movie, but in the end he just wants to spend time with her. So he secretly got Emily to buy him two tickets and asked her to prom, even if that meant setting his first steps inside Rosewood High since he acquired his GED almost a year ago.

Spencer heads in the direction Aria pointed out, cursing her heels for slowing her down.

"Toby?" she calls, checking all the halls with the lights on first.

He's on nowhere to be seen, and she frets for a moment that he's unhappy with her for basically ignoring him since the moment they arrived. She quickly checks the darkened hallway to the left side of the building – so quickly that she nearly misses the lone figure standing almost completely at the other end.

But she would know him anytime, anywhere, in the dark or not.

"Toby?" she says his name again, once she's almost reached him.

He startles, and immediately forces a smile to his face when he sees her. She doesn't buy it. She'd seen the expression on his face before he turned it deliberately neutral.

"Hey," he offers, clearing his throat. "You want to head back or…?"

She stops him with a gentle hand against his chest. When he doesn't meet her eyes, she has confirmation that something isn't right.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly.

He shakes his head. "It's nothing." When he sees her face and he adds, "Nothing important."

She slips her hand in his, leaning against his arm and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Please tell me," she whispers.

He sighs, slumping back against the row of lockers glued to the wall. His eyes fixate on the lockers in front of him, and she waits. She knows by now that with Toby, it's often about being patient until he feels comfortable enough to spill.

"That used to be my locker," he says finally, nodding at the wall opposite them.

"I remember," Spencer answers, and she does. She remembers the word 'Killer' spray-painted across it, but most of all she remembers avoiding this entire hallway altogether when she was alone, terrified of bumping into him.

"I know it was a long time ago," he speaks quietly. "I know everything is different now, and I'm not that person anymore…" He takes a deep breath. "But when I stand here, it's hard to feel like anything but that freak that no one wanted to talk to."

She squeezes her eyes shut, as if that would stop the pain of his words from crashing into her. But it's no use. For a moment she's sure she's going to cry, but she manages to contain herself just in time. She has no right to cry.

"Hey…" She turns him slightly so he's facing her. "Back when that was your locker… did you every imagine you'd be making out with me in front of it?"

She gives him a split second to register what she was saying before gently guiding his mouth to hers. The kiss is tender – timid, almost. She runs her fingers through his hair, using that leverage to bring him closer instead of throwing herself at him full force. He comes to her willingly, locking his arms around her and pulling her into his frame.

How could she ever have been afraid of him? So afraid that she had loathed him, ridiculed him, ostracized him along with the rest of this petty little town? It isn't lost on her that at the last major dance she went to in this building, he was here with Emily and she had hated him with a passion for it.

"I'm sorry," she whispers against his mouth before kissing him again. "Oh God, Toby, I'm so sorry…"

"No," he whispers back. He pulls away slightly and holds her face in his hands, looking into her eyes earnestly. "You saved me. You have to know that."

She shook her head, whimpering slightly. "I–"

"You brought meaning back to my life," he interrupts without ever raising his voice.

She looks at him. "I wish I'd done it sooner," she blurts out, frustrated. "I wish there was something I could do _now_ that makes it better."

He's silent for a moment; then smiles a little, to her great surprise. "There is."

"What?" she demands, prepared to take him to the nearest bathroom and make love to him if that was what he asked. Prepared to jump off a roof for him.

But he just pulls her closer. "Say it."

She's confused – until she isn't. It makes her smile, and she curls her hand around his neck and brings his ear to her lips. "Je t'aime, mon amour."

And, because once just doesn't seem like enough, she slowly kisses her way from his ear to his jaw to his mouth. "Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime…"

As it turns out, they do end up in the nearest bathroom.

* * *

Going back to Rosewood always brings up mixed feelings on Spencer's part. It's nice to catch up with her family – because, incidentally, her relationship with them has gotten significantly easier since she moved out for college – and it's great to catch up with her friends when they're in town… but it's still Rosewood.

When her phone buzzes, she flinches noticeably. Toby's cool, comforting hand immediately covers hers, though he never takes his eyes off the road.

"It's just a text," he says evenly, and she feels some of the tension leave her body. "Probably your mom."

He's right, of course. She's a senior in college, but when in Rosewood, she still feels sixteen.

They stop at a supermarket on the way to her parents' house, in search of a bottle of wine to thank them for the dinner invitation. As soon as they step into the store, Spencer is met with another reason why she dislikes coming back.

She spots two guys who used to go to Rosewood High, a grade above her: Anthony Reyes and Gavin McFarland – both football players with more muscle than brains. Spencer keeps her head down and ushers Toby into a nearby isle, feeling only slightly guilty for wanting to avoid even a simple hello.

When a few minutes pass without confrontation, she lets her guard down a bit. She's pulling a bottle of water from the fridge when she hears a deep voice from over by the pay desk.

"I still don't get it, man. How did that freak Cavanaugh end up with one of the best looking girls in town?"

White-hot fury turns her entire body rigid, and her eyes reflexively seek out her boyfriend. She's relieved when she spots him still at the other end of the isle, comparing wine bottles, oblivious to the exchange she just witnessed. He pretends the word doesn't faze him anymore, but something about the way he shrugs it off always tugs at her heartstrings.

On impulse she steps forward, putting on her Hastings face and walking up with as much confidence as she can muster.

"Hey, boys," she drawls. "Anything I can help you with?"

They both jump, and she catches the worried glace they share – _did she hear that?_ – before they recover quickly.

"Hey, Spence," Gavin greets smoothly. "Long time no see, huh? You look great."

"Oh, thank you, that's so nice," Spencer gushes. "Uh… Greg, was it?"

His easy smile falters. "Gavin."

"Right, right," she says airily. She spots Toby approaching them out of the corner of her eye, looking worried.

"Baby," she calls, beckoning him over. He comes after hesitating slightly, and she can tell he's extremely uncomfortable.

She throws herself at him before anyone can say anything, pushing her tongue shamelessly into his mouth and letting her hands roam over his entire upper body. She can sense his shock but feels his hands instinctively pull her closer anyway, and she smiles inwardly.

"Sorry," she apologizes breathlessly when they break apart. She flashes the two gaping men a bright smile. "He's just so… I just can't resist him, you know? I mean, just look at this…"

Without asking for permission, she pulls Toby's shirt up, practically to his nipples, revealing his perfectly defined six-pack. Her free hand strokes the toned, muscled area greedily, and her eyes stare at it like she's ready to jump him again.

"Anyway, where are my manners?" she says breezily, yanking his shirt back down. She turns to Toby with the most adoring gaze she can muster. "Baby, you remember these guys, don't you? They must've been in your grade at Rosewood High…"

Toby doesn't say anything; he just stares at her like she's lost her mind. So she turns to the two men, giving them a meaningful look and jerking her head subtly in her boyfriend's direction.

They don't have much of a choice really, under the circumstances. Gavin grudgingly holds out his hand and mumbles, "Hey, Toby. How's it going?"

Toby shakes his hand; then Anthony's, after the latter offers it to him. Spencer possessively reaches for his hand when it falls back at his side, like she can't stand the idea of someone else touching it. She rakes the fingers of her other hand up and down his arm.

"We should go," Gavin mutters, his eyes on their conjoined hands, and Spencer notes with satisfaction that his face has turned a hilarious shade of red.

"Okay," she says sweetly. "Well, it was nice seeing you."

Gavin nods with a grimace, then hurries away with Anthony on his heels. Spencer decides she's not done yet, and turning to Toby, she says loudly, "Did you get the condoms? Oh good! Strawberry, my favorite!"

She watches the two men nearly trip over their feet trying to escape the store and falls against Toby's shoulder, shaking with laughter. He chuckles too, giving her a knowing look that suggests he's figured out exactly what had been going on. He tickles her neck and then her side, causing her to squirm against him.

"You're going to hell, Spencer Hastings. Those guys have like half your IQ, they can't keep up with you."

"What?" she asks innocently. "Nothing I said was a lie. I really can't resist you."

He smiles and closes his arms around her, swaying them gently back and forth in the middle of the supermarket.

* * *

They work in the kitchen in silence. She doesn't know what to say. She remembers woefully how when she used to disappoint him, he would flee into his truck and she wouldn't hear from him for sometimes days on end. But it's the disappointment in himself that triggers this kind of brooding silence.

She knows he's not angry with her. If anything, he probably believes that she's the one who is angry with him. As if it's that simple, she thinks. Witness a big blowout between your husband and your child, and automatically know whose side to pick.

The two girls are parked in front of the TV, close together, unusually quiet. They, too, sense that something is very out of the ordinary. And Lawrence…

Spencer sighs, dropping her rag into the sink and coming to stand behind her husband. Her arms slowly slide around his waist and she presses a kiss into the cotton covering his shoulder.

"You okay?" She asks softly.

He shrugs moodily, and her heart constricts when she sees in his eyes just how upset he is.

"I don't know what came over me," he says, and she tries not to flinch at the self-loathing she hears in his tone. "I just… when I heard him use that word, I…"

Spencer's mouth sets into a straight line as she remembers. She isn't a fan either.

Lawrence – their only son, their perfect baby boy – had been telling his sister Cleo about a kid in his third grade class, who in all fairness did sound like he needed to be taught some manners. Lawrence went on about how this kid didn't have any friends because he made fun of everyone, and how everyone in his class kind of avoided him.

"He's a freak," Lawrence added, completely unprepared for the explosive reaction it would elicit from his father.

They have been together for seventeen years, but Spencer can count on one hand the number of times she's seen her husband this angry. Poor Lawrence never saw it coming. Their children aren't used to their father even raising his voice, let alone succumb to this kind of outburst. Spencer knows they view her as the tough cookie and Toby as the pushover, even if she privately feels neither of these caricatures really apply.

In any case, their son had been so rattled that he'd burst into tears, stared at Toby with incomprehension in his eyes and screamed, "I hate you!"

He stormed up the stairs, and Toby hasn't been able to look her in the eye since.

"It'll blow over," Spencer promises, rubbing one hand slowly back and forth across his stomach. "You know he didn't mean it."

Toby doesn't answer, doesn't even acknowledge what she said. He just lets out a long, slow breath. "I sounded just like my father," he mumbles, so quietly that she has to strain to hear him.

"Oh, honey…" Her arms tighten around him and she shakes her head, pressing another kiss into his shoulder. "You're nothing like your father. That's not something you need to worry about, ever."

"Well, I sounded just like him today," he insists, sounding defeated.

"So go talk to your son," Spencer tells him, nodding at the stairs. "Your dad never talked to you about anything. You can be different. You _are_ different."

Toby turns his head to look at her. Then his eyes soften and he kisses her. He lingers, resting his forehead against hers and brushing a wisp of hair away from her face. Then he moves away; her arms drop from his waist and she watches him disappear up the stairs.

She follows him twenty minutes later. Her work in the kitchen is done, the girls are still watching their movie, and frankly, she's too much of a control freak to hold out any longer.

She hears them talking – not yelling – before she reaches the top of the stairs, and takes this as a good sign.

"I'm sorry I behaved that way," Toby is saying. "That wasn't okay, and I'm sorry for scaring you."

"I wasn't scared," comes Lawrence's brave retort.

"Well, I'm sorry for hurting your feelings," Toby saves him gracefully. "Because I'd never want to hurt your feelings, buddy."

Spencer sees Lawrence shrug. Father and son are sitting side by side on Lawrence's bed, and Spencer does her best to stay out of sight.

"So what's the most important lesson you've learned today?" Toby asks gently.

Lawrence's dark eyes meet his father's blues. "That 'freak' is not a nice thing to call anyone, no matter what they did?"

"That's good," Toby nods approvingly. "But there's something more important."

Lawrence ponders for a moment, and little by little Spencer sees her sweet little boy return, instead of the angry, confused child from an hour ago.

"That bullies are bullies because they're sad and we should feel sorry for them?"

"Another really good answer," Toby tells him, smiling. "But I'm looking for a different one."

When Lawrence comes up empty, Toby reaches out and runs his fingers through the boy's two-inch light brown hair.

"The most important thing," he says quietly, "is that no matter what, you will always be my son and I will always love you."

Spencer's heart gives an almost painful jolt – partly because she's moved by Toby's declaration, and partly because she wonders how many times her husband has longed to hear those words from his own father.

She watches Lawrence wrap his arms around Toby's torso, and Toby leans in to kiss their son's head. She hears the words she'd been hoping for.

"Love you too, Dad."


	3. I wanna shelter you

A/N: Final chapter! I'm a little bit more nervous about this one. It's such a fragile subject, and I won't pretend to know what it feels like… so sorry if I got it completely wrong. I mean no offense to anyone.

That being said: thank you for sticking with me, and for the treasures also known as reviews. You guys rock.

* * *

Chapter Three: I wanna shelter you

"Spence," Hanna suddenly proclaims. "You better come look at this."

Spencer is knee deep in her own digging, but something in her friend's voice makes her drop what she's doing and join Hanna and Caleb by his laptop. Hanna's computer-savvy boyfriend has spent the last two hours hacking into a website Spencer stumbled upon during one of her many sleuthing missions. After breaking through the firewall he came across numerous videos that have N.A.T. club written all over them, and Hanna and Caleb are sifting through them while Spencer busies herself with tracking down more information on Cece Drake.

"What?" Spencer wants to know, impatient to get back to her business.

She catches the hesitant look Caleb shoots Hanna before playing one of the videos, and Spencer sees what appears to be someone's back yard. When the camera focuses on a lone figure in the distance, her heart stalls in her throat. It's Toby. Her Toby. Her safe place to land.

He's alone, and appears to be cutting at a piece of wood with a pocketknife, oblivious to the camera. And oh God, he looks awful. He's too thin; too pale. His hair is long and dark and in his face, but that doesn't stop her from registering the haunted look in his eyes.

"Ugh, Jenna," comes a voice from behind the camera. "Your new stepbro is such a creep. I don't know how you're getting any sleep with him in the house."

The camera turns to focus on Jenna, who is sitting beside whoever is filming (Spencer doesn't recognize this person's voice – the best she can do is that it's a female around their age). Jenna smirks, her green snakelike eyes focusing on the boy on the other side of the yard.

"I know, right?" Jenna replies, clearly enjoying the conversation. "I catch him staring at me all the time, it's seriously like the most disgusting thing ever."

The nonchalantly spoken words spread like fire across Spencer's chest, and she becomes faintly aware that her hands are shaking with rage. It's the knowledge of what Jenna was exploiting him into at the time, the unspeakable things she was forcing him to do with her… Spencer feels bile rise in her throat. For Jenna to turn around and use that kind of language on him is fifty different kinds of ghastly.

Suddenly food flies in Toby's direction, and she realizes it's the chips and guacamole the two girls had been snacking on.

"Get lost, perv!" Jenna's friend calls out maliciously. "No one wants you here. Scram!"

Toby flinches as some of the food hits him, and his hands come up to protect himself. But he doesn't even put up a fight. His shoulders just slump dejectedly as he stumbles up to the house, food still attacking his back and Jenna's cruel laughter echoing behind.

It's only when Hanna places a tentative hand on her shoulder that Spencer realizes her face is wet.

She knew about his dark days – how no one wanted him, how no one cared. But seeing his loneliness with her own eyes, watching him hurting like that… It's harrowing, and it causes a pain inside her that makes being stabbed in the gut with a knife seem preferable.

"I have to go," she chokes, and flees Hanna's room before anyone can protest.

She drives to the loft almost blindly, but when she has her car parked she's suddenly apprehensive. She takes a deep shuddering breath, checking her appearance in the rearview mirror. She stopped crying when she left Hanna's house, but her mascara has leaked onto her cheeks and she tries desperately to erase all remnants of her tears.

The last thing she needs is to freak him out.

She pulls open the door to his home to find him in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. He looks up, and she questions briefly if she's ever seen anything so beautiful.

"Hey," he says, sounding surprised but pleased. She struggles to remind herself that he wasn't expecting her.

She wants to greet him back, but the word never makes it out of her throat. When she looks at him she sees the boy in the video – the broken, rejected, misunderstood boy. She would give everything she has to go back in time, hold that boy in her arms, brush his long hair gently away from his beautiful eyes, kiss him, rock him, whisper that everything is going to be okay and she loves him, somebody loves him.

Instead, she walks up to the boy in front of her. Without a word she draws him to her, stroking her hands across his back and burying her face into his neck. He indulges in her embrace, squeezing back tightly before pulling away and tilting her chin towards his face.

"What happened?" he asks softly, his eyes concerned.

Oh God, doesn't he realize she's giving comfort and not seeking it? She shakes her head, naively thinking she can somehow escape this conversation – not because she doesn't want to have it but because she doesn't know where to begin.

He's patient like he always is, and in the end she blurts out a waterfall of sentences that barely make sense to her own ears. In broken English, she tells him about the website, about the videos and about the one video that featured him in particular. She somehow manages to refrain from crying again, even when his features grow solemn under the memory.

"I promise you," she hears herself saying, reaching out to hold his face between her hands. "I promise… you will _never_ be alone like that again."

He looks at her for a moment – then kisses her forehead, and her eyelids, and her nose. "I haven't felt alone since you sat on my porch and talked about having the rug pulled out from under you and ending up on your ass."

She laughs despite herself, marveling at the way he can change her mood in a matter of seconds. She pulls him back into her arms.

"Me neither," she whispers.

* * *

She's dreaming of rain, of running through puddles as her drenched clothes stick to her body like a second skin. It's oddly liberating, yet something dark stops her from feeling completely free.

When she opens her eyes, she's in their apartment in New York, alone in their bed. And she realizes it wasn't rain she was hearing in her sleep. It was the sound of the shower running, and her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach because she knows that can only mean one thing.

Pain sears through her body, so intense it nearly cripples her. But at suddenly as it came, it retreats into a softer, duller ache. She's no use to him when she lets his demons overwhelm her. She wants get up, join him in the shower, kiss him senseless until he forgets. But she knows by now that it doesn't work that way. Not with this.

He has nightmares of red coats and black hoodies, as does she. Sometimes they wake up screaming; sometimes it's silent tears spread across their faces. Either way, the embrace of the other person is home. It's bliss, it's solace. It's unprecedented, unparalleled, and nothing else will ever come close.

But when he wakes up with memories of Jenna poisoning his mind, Spencer knows there's nothing she can do. No comfort she can provide. At least not until he's scrubbed his naked body raw, the same way he used to after the abuse took place. It kills her, but she has to choice but to accept that in these moments, he'll always be on his own.

When she hears the shower turn off, she can't take it anymore. He's drying himself off when she slowly pushes open the door. He looks up and spots her, and for a moment they don't speak.

"You okay?" she finally utters weakly, grateful that she managed to keep her tremor out of her voice.

He gives a barely perceptive nod, wrapping his towel around his waist. She waits another moment before dragging her body away from the door and crossing the room to him on her bare feet. She drapes both arms around him, leaning into him as her mouth connects with the bare skin between his neck and his shoulder. He welcomes her embrace, returns her hug – but she can feel something preventing him from completely surrendering, unnoticeable to anyone but her.

"Will you come back to bed?" she requests in a murmur, pulling back slightly to look at his face anxiously.

"Um…" He strokes her bicep with one hand while both her elbows rest on his shoulders. "I think I'm going to watch TV for a while."

"Me too then," she says quickly, only to see him hesitate. "Please, Toby. We can watch whatever you want on Netflix. Or that Game Of Thrones episode we missed. I downloaded it already, it's on my laptop, let me just…"

She's rambling uncontrollably now, sounding increasingly desperate to her own ears, and she's grateful when he stops her by simply pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Okay," he whispers.

He climbs into bed next to her after putting on some underwear, and she balances the laptop on his legs as he settles against the pillows. She crawls against his chest, wrapping an arm across him and repeatedly stroking his bare skin with her thumb as the episode unfolds.

It's her favorite show, but she has a hard time concentrating on the story.

Over the years, Toby has opened up about his history with Jenna, but only slightly, and with long gaps in between. He's spoken of the guilt in believing that he somehow led his stepsister on, simply because he was so desperate for human contact that he'd actually encouraged her company when she and her mother first entered the picture. He's mentioned brokenly how whenever she touched him his heart and soul would react with disgust, but his body would betray him over and over. And he's talked about the extraordinary steps he took to make things better not only for himself, but for Spencer as well.

She'll never forget how he let it slip – over three years after she lost her virginity to him in her room at her parents' house – that in the months leading up to this life-altering event, he'd paid regular visits to Dr. Sullivan without her knowledge.

"You looked at me like I had all the answers," he told her when she stared at him like he was growing a second head, "but I was as much a stranger to consensual sex as you were. All I knew was force, and I was terrified of being too rough with you, of unknowingly hurting you…" He swallowed and didn't continue. "Dr. Sullivan… she really helped me. I mean…" He suddenly looked uncertain. "It was… okay, wasn't it?"

"It was perfect," she promised, suddenly emotional as she reached for his hand, wondering how after all this time he could still have doubts about that. "I mean it. I think if every girl had a first time like I did, the world would be filled with happier women."

Tears sting in her eyes as she remembers this conversation now. She almost forgets sometimes how her sweet, gentle boyfriend is a victim of sexual abuse. He's so well-adjusted and mellow, and his smiles are so genuine, that it just slips her mind.

It's absolutely appalling how she's always taken by surprise by these monsters lurking between his sheets. Just because their own sex life never suffered under his previous abuse – just because he's never been anything but generous, unrestrained and utterly selfless in bed – doesn't mean he's healed. It destroys her how he might never be one hundred percent free of his evil stepsister's reign.

When Spencer hears the familiar cello solo of the famous Game Of Thrones theme, she realizes that, one, the episode has come to its end, and two, she completely zoned out on the second half. But when she looks up to meet Toby's eyes, all her anguish is momentarily forgotten.

His gaze is sincerely peaceful, and when he smiles at her it lights up his already pale eyes. She realizes instantly that he is calm; he is soothed – even if she isn't. He's no longer thinking of all that had hurt him. He's thinking of her and all things good.

He leans in and kisses her – a warm, heartfelt kiss and she wishes irrationally would last forever. He's still smiling when they break apart, and without a word he sets her laptop on the floor and switches off the bedside lamp.

He pulls her against his body, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. "You're my angel," he murmurs. "You know that, right?"

She doesn't confirm this verbally, but she smiles at him even though her throat tightens. She rests her head against him and closes her eyes before responding, "And you're mine."

* * *

It's Cleo who notices the tattoo while they're all sitting on the beach in their swim gear – or rather, she's the first out of their three to take notice of the actual words instead of merely the design.

Free At Last.

Naturally, she wants to know what it means, and soon the other two are chiming in. Spencer has always known this day would come, but somehow she didn't expect it to be so soon. She and Toby have had multiple discussions on the subject, and he even went as far is to confess that back then, if he'd thought there was even the slightest possibility of someone wanting to have children with him someday, he probably would have thought twice about engraving something so permanent into his body.

They don't go into details, because the kids are still much too young for that, and because they can't bear it. But they tell the story of how their father lived in fear of someone, was afraid to speak up and consequently was very unhappy for a long time. So when he finally mustered the courage to stand up for himself, he had the tattoo engrained into his body as a reminder to never let someone have that kind of control over him again.

Their children all agree it's the coolest thing ever, and, satisfied, they don't inquire any further.

But Spencer notices her husband is quieter than usual since returning from their day at the beach. Thankfully the kids don't seem to notice, and so dinner is its usual lively affair. Bedtime wouldn't be bedtime without a little protest, but their trio is so wiped out from sun and laughter that they're out cold before their bedtime story even comes to an end.

She and Toby decide to turn not much later, also beat. She's in bed reading, waiting for him while he does his usual task of making sure the doors and windows are all locked. He stays away longer than usual, and she starts to grow restless, not to mention increasingly lonely.

There was a time she would have yelled for him to get his ass in bed, but with three sleeping children in the house she has no choice but to get up and follow him. She spots him almost instantly, standing in the open doorway of the bedroom where their daughters sleep, and his head is turned in the direction of their son's territory on the opposite side of the hall.

He smiles softly when he sees her and holds out an arm. Her feet carry her over to him without a second thought, and she leans into him, resting her whole weight into the warmth of his strong, solid body. They don't speak, and the only movement is his fingers slowly raking up and down her back.

"Think we did the right thing?" he wonders out loud after a moment. "Telling them about…"

He doesn't need to finish for her to know exactly what he means. She sighs. "It's not like we had much of a choice. We can't shelter them forever."

He nods against her. They both know it isn't over. The day will come when their kids ask more questions, and they will be forced to reveal more devastating answers.

"Knowledge is power," she continues. "If they know, they can protect themselves from falling in the same trap. And we need to give them that protection, Toby. All of them, especially…"

His arms tighten around her. He knows which child she's talking about.

After a few moments of silence, Toby reminisces wistfully, "Remember when they were born?"

And she smiles – because how could she forget that day almost six years ago when they became parents to these three incredible little humans? The day when first Lawrence came into the world, and Spencer fell head over heels in love with him the way every mother falls for her firstborn. He was so strong and healthy and perfect, and to this day remains just a tad taller than the two sisters that would soon follow him.

Cleo was next, and she was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty from day one. She took her mother's breath away, and Spencer remembers looking down at her tiny daughter and thinking that life just doesn't get any better than this.

She cried when the nurses took the two babies away, telling her that her third child seemed to be holding out and she should use this time to let her body recuperate as much as possible. At this point, she was so enamored by the two kids she'd already held that she'd completely forgotten there even was a third child. (It was also still quite ridiculous to her that she of all people would get pregnant with triplets. She, who – after a lifetime of struggles with Melissa – had told her husband, "We're having one kid, so it better be a good one.")

She felt a pang of anguish. They already had the most perfect baby boy and the most perfect baby girl imaginable… how could this third baby, this second girl, possibly compete?

A horrible thought struck her, as horrible thoughts have a tendency to do when she is stressed and sleep deprived. What if she didn't love it as much? What if this baby just didn't mean as much to her?

She remembers looking at Toby, who was gazing down at her with wonder in his eyes while running his fingers through her sweaty hair, and feeling a wave of calm wash over her. He would make everything all right. He would make up for all her shortcomings with candy and patience. If she loved it less, he would only love it more.

Before she had time to dwell on it too much, the doctor was telling her to push again. The previous two had come out screaming their tiny lungs out, but this baby only made a few faint gurgling noises. The nurses wrapped her up in a blanket and handed her to Spencer, and when the silent infant opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, all Spencer's previous anxiety instantly melted away. Because instead of the chocolate Hastings eyes she had seen in Lawrence and Cleo, and in all her family members for as long as they had photos, she was met with the bluest blue she could ever imagine. And Spencer felt love at first sight for the third time in her life.

"Most people go through their entire life without ever really finding peace," Toby murmurs, bringing her back to the present. "Happiness is something they feel in between bouts of loneliness and doubt. But I found it." She feels him press a kiss in her hair. "I found it when I was just a stupid kid. And everything before that… it doesn't matter anymore, Spence."

She knows he's talking about the way his life had unraveled when he was just a boy: his mother's depression and subsequent death, his father's complete detachment, Jenna's abuse, being sent away to reform school for something he didn't do, returning to Rosewood as the town pariah, and lastly, the horrendous fallout of being accused of murder.

"If I had to go through all that as compensation for ending up with you, for having this ridiculously happy life with you, then so be it. I'm still a fucking lucky bastard and I know it, okay?"

She laughs a little, grateful for the comic relief amidst his intense words. Blinking back tears, she tells him, "How about we go to bed and I show you lucky?"

"Just a sec, don't move," he instructs as he steps into the girls' room and places one of Cleo's feet back under the covers. In his haste to get back to her, he bangs his knee loudly against the foot of Cleo's bed. He curses under his breath, then checks if either noise awoke their sleeping child. But it isn't Cleo's tiny body that stirs. It's the one belonging to their other daughter on the other side of the room.

"Mommy?" she says, sounding frightened. She sits up, and in the blink of an eye both parents are at her side.

"It's okay, sweet pea," Spencer soothes her, brushing a strand of wispy blond hair away from her breathtakingly blue eyes, still identical to Toby's even in the moonlight. "Just Daddy being clumsy."

Eloise smiles at her father, who nods sheepishly in confirmation, and thankfully doesn't ask what her parents are doing in her room so late at night. Cleo might have asked that question, but Eloise just looks pacified and says, "I'm thirsty."

Toby hands her the plastic cup resting on her bedside table, and they both watch their daughter take a few large gulps. Spencer wonders, not for the first time, what it is about this kid that always breaks down all her defenses. Eloise is the child she worries most over, the one she hugs a little tighter before sending them off into the world every day. She's always had an immense respect for Toby's mother, but it's only since Eloise that she truly identifies with the woman. It's utterly terrifying to have a child that is so sensitive and so softhearted that sometimes they just don't seem cut out for the world they live in.

Marion would have known a little something about that.

"Close your eyes," Spencer says gently, easing the little girl back against her pillow, and Toby drags the covers up to her chin.

"Kisses?" Eloise requests sleepily, and they take turns brushing their lips against her impossibly soft skin. They've barely pulled back before they hear the slow, easy sounds of her breathing – a sure indication that she's fallen back asleep.

Spencer reaches for Toby's hand and wordlessly leads him away. They're kissing before they've even properly made it into the hall.

"Where were we?" she says, biting on his lower lip teasingly. "Oh, yeah. I was going to show you what lucky feels like."

He laughs quietly, and she does too. They have yet to let the kids distract them from their sex life – which is a good thing too, or it would be virtually non-existent.

Instead it's full and satisfying, and him sweeping her feet out from underneath her and walking them both to their bed is only the beginning of what will later undoubtedly become a fond memory.


End file.
